


all i need is time, time to love you

by ladystark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2151711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladystark/pseuds/ladystark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaery knows that no matter where she goes, backwards and forewards in time, that she will always find her way back home. And Sansa will always be waiting.</p><p>“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i need is time, time to love you

**Margaery is 38, Sansa is 11**

Margaery registers the soft, muddy ground beneath her back before she registers anything else, and her mind fills with worried thoughts about where she is – both in location and time. She hopes that it’s nowhere too incriminating, somewhere private, and that she’ll be able to leave soon – those are the trips that are the easiest.

“Who are you?” This, apparently, is not one of those trips.

Margaery looks up, spotting a large, wolf like dog staring at her, head tilted to one side. Its owner is a young, auburn haired girl in a pretty blue dress, with eyes to match. She’s young, twelve at the oldest, and she’s trying to appear brave despite the obvious fear in her eyes.

It’s Sansa, _Margaery’s_ Sansa, but in another place and another time, when she’s not yet Margaery’s. If her demeanour is too be believed, it might possibly be their first meeting.

Margaery sits up, slowly, carefully, dragging her knees to her chest in an attempt to cover up as much as she can. She tilts her head up at Sansa and smiles, although she knows it can’t help much. She’s a naked, unfamiliar, dirt covered stranger sitting in what Margaery now recognizes to be Sansa’s childhood backyard.

“I’ll call mother and father” Sansa says, voice shaking slightly as Lady remains stoic. Margaery never met the dog, but she remembers Sansa telling her that although Lady lived up to her name, she’d protect Sansa in a heartbeat if she had to. This thought breaks Margaery’s heart, somewhat, because she knows what will happen to Lady in a few short months.

“Don’t” Margaery says, keeping her voice steady. She knows this has to end well, because when she meets Sansa for real in two years time, she already knows and loves Margaery. “My name is Margaery Tyrell, and you and I are very good friends.”

“I don’t know you” Sansa states “Unless you’re one of Theon’s friends – but you shouldn’t be naked and in my backyard, no matter what he says.”

Margaery laughs a little, and Sansa furrows her brows in confusion. “I’m not a friend of Theon’s” she replies, although she is in the future – she is simply not friends with Theon Greyjoy as he is now, and wouldn’t show up in a backyard naked for him in a million years.

“Then _who_ are you?” Sansa asks, and Margaery can see traces of her Sansa, her brave, determined Sansa in this eleven year old girl.

Margaery considers lying, as she usually does when somebody finds her like this, but she knows she won’t. There are a million and one lies she could tell, but Sansa deserves to know the truth. _Needs_ to know the truth, because otherwise will never unfold the way it’s supposed to.

“I’m a time traveller” Margaery says, and she watches as Sansa narrows her eyes and takes a step back, probably concerned for Margaery’s well-being and her own safety. “I travel back to different points in time, and I have absolutely no control over it.”

“Naked?” Sansa demands, in the same tone she used back in high school when she thought Arya and Robb were playing a joke on her.

“Naked.” Margaery confirms. After several beats, Sansa warily removes her pink cardigan and hands it to Margaery, who tries to cover up the best she can. Sansa still doesn’t look convinced, however, and Margaery knows she’s going to have to give Sansa more information if she wants the young girl to believe her.

“I’ll prove it to you” Margaery tells her, and the eleven year old crosses her arms defiantly.

“How?”

Margaery smiles “Your name is Sansa Stark. You’re eleven years old, and you’re the oldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. You have three brothers – Robb, Bran and Rickon – and a little sister called Arya. Your half brother’s name is Jon, and you also live with a boy named Theon Greyjoy, who is neither a brother nor a family friend. Your dog’s name is Lady, and she is the loveliest creature. Your favourite food is lemon cakes, and your favourite book is a large copy of fairytales your mother read to you as a child. Arya often makes fun of you for this, but Bran adores the tales, and you read them to him every night. You hope that hearing the familiar stories will help him wake up soon.”

Sansa stiffens at the final part, and for a moment, Margaery wishes she hasn’t said it. But she knows Sansa wouldn’t have believed her otherwise, and she’ll forgive Margaery soon enough – she would have never told Margaery about the nights spent waiting for Bran to wake up otherwise.

There is silence for several seconds, in which Sansa watches Margaery with misty eyes and Lady growls once, all while Margaery is sitting on the muddy ground, almost naked and occasionally shivering.

“Sansa” Margaery says, beginning to feel the tug that will take her back to her time, to her home. Her visit here is up, and she knows that if Sansa doesn't believe her now, she will soon. The smaller girl stares at her, and Margaery smiles, reaching out to cup Sansa's cheek. She flinches but doesn't pull away, instead raising her own hand to reach out to Margaery.

But then Margaery is gone, being pulled back to her time, safe in the knowledge that Sansa now believes her story.

**Margaery is 24, Sansa is 13**

When Margaery opens her eyes, she finds herself staring at a pair of small, pale feet, with toenails painted bright pink. She glances up, slowly, and finds herself looking up at Sansa, who’s smiling brightly.

“You’re here,” she says, before turning around and rushing over to a large bush on the other side of the backyard. Margaery sits up, trying to recall the last time she was here. It must’ve been years ago, back when the entire Stark family was still around and Sansa was a teenager. This is the first time she’s met a younger version of Sansa, but Sansa must’ve already met an older version of Margaery, which makes things much easier for the both of them.

Sansa rushes back over, holding a picnic basket, a large piece of dark blue fabric draped over her arm. She puts the basket down in front of Margaery and presents the piece of fabric, which appears to be a dress.

“Here,” Sansa says, and Margaery takes it, getting to her feet. With a blush, Sansa turns away, and Margaery lets out a little laugh as she tugs the item over her head. It’s long sleeved and reaches down to mid-calves, slightly too big for Margaery, although she appreciates the gesture. She hopes that Sansa won’t be in trouble for borrowing Catelyn’s dress, although she’s apparently done this before, and seems to know what she’s doing.

“Are you dressed?” Sansa asks, and Margaery laughs.

“Yes, sweet girl.”

Sansa turns around, grinning, and throws herself at Margaery, wrapping her arms around her waist. She looks to be about thirteen, yet she’s already up to Margaery’s chest, and it’ll only be a few years before she’s taller than her altogether. For the time being, however, Margaery takes pride in being taller, even if it’s only because Sansa is half her age.

Sansa pulls away, and sits down next to the picnic basket with crossed legs. Margaery follows her, sitting down on her knees so the dress covers as much as it can. She watches as Sansa rummages around in the basket, pulling out a sandwich and presenting it to Margaery. It’s chicken salad, and Margaery takes it gratefully. Hunger can often be one of the many downsides to time travelling, and she’s glad Sansa’s so willing to take care of this, among everything else.

“I also have grape juice and lemon cakes,” Sansa tells her, watching carefully as Margaery takes a bite.

She does too, and the pair sit in silence as they eat the picnic Sansa’s prepared. Margaery also takes these moments to study Sansa, who looks somewhat hardened despite her happy demeanour. Margaery wonders how long it’s been since Lady passed on, Bran’s status, and how things are going with the Lannisters. There’s so much she wants to say, wants to do, but she knows she can’t.

“How old are you?” Sansa finally asks once they’ve both finished. “So I can keep it in my journal.”

“I’m twenty-four,” Margaery replies, thinking of the old journal Sansa keeps that has the dates of all their meetings over the years. She doesn’t let Margaery look at it, because apparently an older version of Margaery told her she couldn’t, once. Something about how even though it’s easier if she knows when she’ll travel, it’s better if she doesn’t.

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

Margaery shakes her head “This is the first time I’ve visited you.” Sansa’s face falls, but Margaery knows she’s going to spend every afternoon waiting in the backyard until Margaery appears again.

“I miss you,” Sansa tells her, frowning slightly. Margaery leans forward and gives her a kiss on the forehead. She can hear Ned and Cat calling from the house, and they’ll be outside looking for Sansa in a minute or so. It’s just as well that Margaery can feeling herself slipping back, ready to go back home and hopefully get some rest – time travelling tires her out more than she’s willing to admit.

“I miss you too, Sansa.”

"Aren't I with you back in your time?" Sansa looks genuinely afraid that the answer will be anything other than 'yes', and Margaery wants to say the word that Sansa so desperately wants to hear. But Sansa's not allowed to know where she'll be in nine years, and if she'll be with Margaery or not.

 "I'm not allowed to tell you," Margaery says, adding a wink to soften the blow "It's a secret."

 "You have a lot of secrets," Sansa mumbles, staring down at the picnic basket. Margaery reaches over and tucks a stray hair behind Sansa's ear.

 "Sometimes we keep secrets to protect the ones we love," she informs her, and Sansa glances up, frowning.

 "I think dad's keeping secrets from us." It's true, Ned is hiding things from his family, but it's to protect them. It's always that way with the Stark family, and Margaery can only give Sansa a smile in reassurance.

 "He loves you," Margaery reminds her, and hopes that it will be enough.

 "Do you?" Sansa asks, just as Margaery begins to feel herself pull away. "Do you love me?"

 But Margaery is gone before she gets the chance to answer.

**Margaery is 17, Sansa is 15**

“Joffrey didn’t mean it.”

Margaery frowns, running her hands through Sansa’s hair with a sigh. It’s one of their weekly sleepovers, and Sansa sits on the edge of Margaery’s bed whilst the older girl does her hair. Normally, Daenerys would be here too, but she said she had other plans tonight. Margaery suspects those plans are of the ‘slashing Joffrey Baratheon’s tyres’ kind.

“Sansa, sweet girl,” Margaery tells her, grabbing a brush from her bedside table “You and I both know that he did.” It’s the kind of thing Margaery has never wanted to say to her best friend, but she knows she has no other option. Sansa is truly smart, and Margaery knows this better than anyone, but she has horrible moments of naivety from time to time. Most of them are to do with Joffrey Baratheon, who she’s very much in love with. Margaery made out with him back in ninth grade and swore to never again. Sansa, unfortunately, has been dating him for almost a year now and still sees no fault in him.

“He loves me,” Sansa states, as if this is a fact Margaery should know. “We’re going to get married one day, and have beautiful children.”

Sansa is only fifteen and is willing to believe these things, but Margaery is seventeen, and has seen enough over the several decades that she’s lived, and, travelled, to know better. Also, as far as she’s concerned, Joffrey Baratheon is a total asshole that deserves everything Dany and Sansa’s siblings are eventually going to bring on him, and more.

Margaery abandons the hair brushing and instead slides off the bed, coming round to kneel in front of Sansa. The younger – but frustratingly taller – girl looks down at her with confusion, wisps of slightly knotted hair framing her face. Margaery takes her hands gently, wishing she could tell Sansa the things she’s seen.

_The Lannisters are going to tear your family apart. They are going to tear **you** apart. Sansa, please, sweet girl, stay away from them. Your family, Dany and I shall protect you. Just stay away from them._

She can’t say those things though, because Margaery has given herself rules that she must follow in regards to her time travelling. And telling people of future events is one of them, no matter how much it kills Margaery inside.

“Sansa,” she says instead “I consider you a very good friend. My best friend. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Joffrey won’t-”

Margaery shakes her head, cutting across Sansa “If he ever says anything like that to you again, tell me. I’ll take care of it.”

“Margaery,” Sansa begins, looking down at her hands. Margaery watches her for several moments, waiting for the younger girl to speak again. “Thank you.”

Margaery smiles, and this seems to reassure Sansa, as if Margaery’s words have erased the thought of Joffrey’s harsher ones. She looks set to believe in happy endings again, looks set to believe that Joffrey is a good boyfriend and Margaery is a loyal best friend. She looks like she knows everything will work out in the end.

Margaery wishes that was true. But she knows it isn’t, and it breaks her heart to know what’s going to happen to Sansa.

She swallows, getting to her feet with a smile, glad that her grandmother spent years teaching hew how to hide her true emotions. “So, shall we continue with your hair?”

**Margaery is 32, and 17**

Margaery frowns as she hears the loud thud coming from the guest room, but it doesn’t take her long to figure out what happened. She puts Sansa’s copy of _What To Expect When You’re Expecting_ down, making her way down the hallway to the very last room on the left.

She doesn’t bother knocking before entering, because she doesn’t see the point in it. She’s met past and future versions of herself before, and although it’s always an odd experience, it’s never because she doesn’t knock.

A seventeen year old version of herself stands there, attempting to wrap a sheet around her body so it covers everything without dragging along the floor. Margaery leans against the doorframe, watching herself for several moments as she tries to place where she’s come from. The younger version looks somewhat tense, and this further spikes Margaery’s curiosity.

“How long does this trip last?” eventeen year old Margaery asks once her task is finally complete. If Margaery’s totally honest, the sheet looks somewhat fashionable. “Sansa’s over for a sleepover, and I don’t want her waking up to find me gone.”

With a jolt, Margaery places exactly where this seventeen year old version of herself has come from. It’s the sleepover after Joffrey called Sansa some truly horrible things in the corridor, which led to Dany completely destroying his car that very night. That part is almost a fond memory, but Margaery knows how awful her younger self must feel right now.

“It’s not a long trip,” she replies, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her “You’ll go back, and Sansa will have never noticed that you were gone.”

She has always hated these trips the most, the ones where she runs into versions of herself from various years. It’s always stiff and awkward, because the future version can never reveal any information, and the past version always feels frustration with that. They both know how the rules go, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Margaery considers offering herself some clothes, but decides against it when she remembers the events from the eyes of a seventeen year old. This is also how she knows what’s coming next, and she stares down at her fingernails while she waits for it. Her seventeen year old self is wracked with anger and guilt, a common feeling in this business. There’s always the want to tell people their futures so they can stop bad things happening, but the knowledge that she can't do exactly that - it's been something Margaery's struggled with all her life, more so in the upcoming years than any other time.

“Is Sansa happy?” Seventeen year old Margaery demands suddenly, her voice breaking slightly. Margaery glances up, and her younger self looks so heartbroken and scared, exactly how she’d never want to look in public. Normally, Margaery would tell her she couldn’t say anything, because she's not allowed to, no matter how much better things could go if she revealed the future. But, she's only telling herself, and she remembers the one word answer she got in response, all those years ago, back when she was seventeen. It got her through what was to follow.

“Yes,” Margaery tells her, straightening up “Sansa’s very happy.”

 Her younger self looks relieved, and, if Margaery remembers correctly, she'll be going home soon. She looks at herself, this young, tenser version, a pretty young thing with the weight of her world on her shoulders. Margaery knows she's going to get through this, but sometimes, she forgets.

 "Look after her," Margaery tells herself as the seventeen year old disappears to go back in time, where she'll awaken next to a sleeping Sansa.

**Margaery is 21, Sansa is 19**

Margaery runs her hand through her hair in irritation, spinning around to face Sansa with a frown. She knows she shouldn’t be so upset by this, but Sansa has been lying to her for five years now, and it irritates her a little.

“You told me that I couldn’t tell you until this date,” Sansa informs her from the other end of the room, and Margaery feels a rush of irritation towards her future self. Sansa’s standing there, clutching an old journal to her chest and staring at Margaery, looking strangely calm. She looks more put together than Margaery does, which is a strange sensation to the brunette, who is used to being the most put together person in the room at all times.

But Sansa knows things Margaery doesn’t, and she’s had about seven years – or more – to prepare for this moment, so she figures she can let this one slide.

“How old are you when you first meet me?” Margaery asks with a sigh, but Sansa shakes her head.

“I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you anything, except that I knew you for years before we first met, and that I know about your-” she pauses, searching for the right word.

“Condition?” Margaery supplies, and Sansa blushes. The younger girl tends to pride herself on her words. They both do, although for somewhat different reasons.

“Right, of course.” She sets the journal down, and makes her way towards Margaery. Margaery glances up at Sansa’s face and doesn’t look away, not even when Sansa intertwines their hands. She knows that her anger shouldn't be directed at Sansa, but at her older self, but she's gone twenty-one years having only herself to talk to about this, and she wishes she could have confided in Sansa, especially since she knew all along.

“Margaery, please,” Sansa begins, biting her lip “I love you, but you said I _couldn’t_ tell, because it could cause problems. I wanted to, more than anything, but I couldn’t. Don’t be mad at me.”

“Sansa-”

Sansa cuts her off by leaning down and kissing her, and Margaery is momentarily taken aback, but she kisses back, because she always does. She never knew there was lemon cake flavoured lip balm before she kissed Sansa, and now it’s her favourite taste, and kissing is one of the many things Sansa is good at.

 They pull away, and Margaery can feel her anger fading slowly, but she's determined to get a few more words in before Sansa makes her forget entirely.

 "I'm not the thirty-something version of Margaery that you know," she argues, because it's always been a worry - that her older self is more memorable than her present self is.

 Sansa shakes her head slowly. “I loved you before I met you. Every version of you. Past, present, and future.”

 Margaery can hear the sincerity, because Sansa has no reason to lie about her feelings, and she caves, pulling Sansa closer. She’s not mad at Sansa, not really, more the future version of herself. This time travelling condition has a way of ruining relationships, but it seems it never put Sansa off, and Margaery can’t help but love her for that.

 Sansa presses her lips to Margaery's ear, and Margaery feels a shiver run down her spine as Sansa whispers in her ear. “Your presence changed everything.”

**Margaery is 34, Sansa is 16**

Margaery finds herself in Sansa’s bedroom, the room she had back when she was a teenager. It’s empty, for now, and Margaery quickly scrambles around, trying to find something appropriate to wear. She finds a skirt Sansa must’ve borrowed from Catelyn, and a hoodie that is dark black and appears to be about an alternative emo band, so Margaery deducts that it must be Jon’s.

She’s just finished pulling it on when she hears the unmistakable sound of Sansa’s sobs, and Margaery feels a sinking in her stomach just as Sansa throws open the door. Her face is red and her hair is messy, and she looks as if she’s in her mid-teens. Margaery feels her own heart break when she figures out what day is must be.

“Margaery,” Sansa gulps, before bursting into a fresh wave of tears. Margaery rushes over to her, taking Sansa in her arms as the younger girl crumples to the floor. She’s young, too young to experience the pain she must be feeling right now, and Margaery runs a hand through her soft hair, not knowing what to say for maybe the first time ever.

“They killed father,” Sansa gets out between sobs, clutching Jon’s shirt between her fists “Joffrey and Cersei, they had him killed.”

Margaery knows this, of course. Right now, not many people do, because the official news is that Eddard Stark was stabbed in prison, where he was serving time for multiple crimes against the Lannister family. The true story is that the Lannisters had him murdered on purpose, and this is something Sansa has already figured out, at the tender age of sixteen.

Margaery doesn’t know how long they sit like this, Sansa sobbing into Margaery’s chest, the pair of them sitting on the soft blue carpet in Sansa’s bedroom. Somewhere, downstairs, Robb is planning out his revenge and Catelyn is trying to control an upset Rickon who just doesn’t understand. Margaery doesn’t know how long she has with Sansa, but she knows that all the time in the world wouldn’t make things better.

“It was my fault,” Sansa says, her voice slightly muffled by the fabric of Jon’s hoodie. Margaery shakes her head, tilting Sansa’s head up so they’re looking at each other. Sansa looks exactly how Margaery remembers her looking, and she remembers it killing her the first time she saw Sansa like this. She’s sixteen years old, and she’s experience more pain that anyone should ever experience, and it’s written all over her face.

“No, no, sweet girl,” Margaery tells her, wiping away Sansa’s tears in an attempt to keep her own at bay “It was the Lannisters. It was nobody’s fault but theirs. Don’t blame yourself for their cruel act.”

Sansa sniffs, and Margaery can tell she doesn’t believe her. She will, in time, but Margaery knows the next few years are going to be so painful for her – and in turn, for Margaery.

But they will make the Lannisters pay, for this, and for all the other harm they will bring on Sansa and her family. Margaery knows this, better than anyone, because she was there to watch the downfall of the lions and the rise of the wolves. She knows Sansa will get through this, eventually, because she is so brave.

And because it hurts Margaery too much to see Sansa like this, and because she can feel herself slipping away, and knows she needs to act fast, she breaks one of her rules.

She rests her lips against Sansa’s ear and whispers what she knows Sansa needs to hear right now. “The wolves will come again, my love.”

**Margaery is 34, Sansa is 32**

Margaery awakens in her own bed, breathing heavily. She glances over at Sansa, who is fast asleep, the day from sixteen years ago a million miles away. Margaery sits up, drawing her fingers over Sansa’s soft skin, and smiles.

The sight of a young, crying Sansa is still present in her mind, and Margaery can tell it’s going to be there for the next week, at least. It’s a time period that both girls have tried desperately to forget, but neither ever will. There are ghosts that haunt them both regularly, although Sansa has a much worse time of it.

Margaery knows, and her trip only served as a reminder, that Sansa will always be a little bit far from okay. But as Margaery watches her sleep, she remembers that Sansa is brave enough to have lived through it, and was brave enough to come out the other end stronger than ever. And perhaps she is not okay, but she is happy, and she is alive, and for now, Margaery thinks that this is enough.

**Margaery is 22, Sansa is 18**

“Margaery!”

Margaery has barely registered what’s happening before she’s tackled to the ground again, her attacker apparently too happy to care that she’s naked. It’s Sansa, and she’s in her late teens, as lovely as Margaery remembers her. The last time she saw her Sansa was an hour before she got pulled back in time, she had been blushing furiously. When Margaery had asked why, Sansa told her that she wasn’t allowed to tell, and Margaery was stuck wondering what was in store for her this time.

“Sansa,” Margaery laughs in return, reaching up to run her hand over Sansa’s cheek. She seems happy, and Margaery realises that Robb and Catelyn must still be alive at this point in time. The thought is a bittersweet one, because it means their deaths aren’t far off, but she doesn’t want to ruin this trip, especially after the way her Sansa was acting this morning.

As if suddenly noticing Margaery’s naked status, Sansa rolls off her, but she’s giggling all the while. Margaery sits up and glances down at her, placing her arm over her chest. Sansa must be about eighteen now, and although Margaery sees no reason as to why she should be worried about Sansa seeing her like this, she doesn’t want to distract the girl too much.

Sansa herself is beautiful, wearing a white shirt and high waisted shots, her hair fanning out around her on the ground. She’s wearing the silver necklace Margaery bought her for her seventeenth birthday, and she’s smiling as if Margaery is the loveliest thing in the world.

“You just went back to college,” Sansa tells her, sitting up, blushing slightly when she takes sight of Margaery’s chest “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Didn’t you have the date written down in your journal?” Margaery teases, and Sansa pouts.

“I’ve been too busy to check it!” Sansa replies, shoving Margaery slightly “I’ve done nothing but see you the past few days. My version of you.”

“Sansa, darling, all versions of me are yours,” Margaery reminds her, because she’s said this to her Sansa back home a thousand times. It’s a difficult concept for both of them to grasp, but at least Margaery knows what the experience is like. Even after all these years Sansa still gets a little lost sometimes.

“And I’m yours,” Sansa replies, and Margaery reaches over to grab her hand. They sit in silence for several minutes, whilst Sansa watches Margaery and bites her lip. She looks puzzled, and Margaery’s about to ask her what the problem is when Sansa leans forward and kisses her.

A part of Margaery tells her she shouldn’t be doing this, but she can’t help but kiss Sansa back, clutching the back of the younger girl’s head to pull her closer. Sansa wraps her arms around her as she pushes her tongue inside Margaery’s mouth. They’re both hungry for this, perhaps Sansa more so, because she’s had to wait a little longer to kiss Margaery again. A few days, at most, but Margaery last kissed Sansa this morning and she’s already having withdrawals.

Margaery slips her hands beneath Sansa’s shirt, feeling the familiar soft skin beneath it with a groan. Sansa is running her hands all over Margaery’s bare skin, and _fuck_ , Margaery loves this, the rush she gets whenever Sansa kisses her and touches her like that. It’s been years and Margaery still loves the sensation. Nobody else has ever managed to give her the rush that Sansa gives her.

As Margaery fumbles with the clasp of Sansa’s bra it dawns on her that this must have been what Sansa was blushing about this morning. She can picture it written down in Sansa’s journal in her elegant handwriting, the ‘i’s dotted with hearts: _A 22 year old_ _Margaery took my virginity today._

She finds herself smirking into Sansa’s mouth, and it only widens when she hears the redhead let out a groan. Gently pushing Sansa to the ground, Margaery quickly glances back to make sure Sansa’s bedroom door is closed before pressing her lips to Sansa’s once more. Sansa kisses her back, grazing her teeth along Margaery’s bottom lip while she works on getting the rest of Sansa’s clothes off.

Sitting up, Margaery glances down at Sansa, who’s breathing heavily. Her lips are blood red and her eyes are wide, and Margaery can’t help but notice how beautiful she is like this. She reaches down and places a hand on Sansa’s cheek and Sansa nods, confirming that she wants this more than anything. Margaery leans down again, drawing her mouth across Sansa’s neck whilst she digs her nails into Margaery’s back.

“Margaery,” Sansa whispers into her ear when Margaery begins to place kisses along Sansa’s collarbone “ _Please_.”

And so, Margaery obliges.

**Margaery is 27, Sansa is 1**

Margaery walks out into the street, wishing she knew how long this particular trip was going to be. She’s wearing clothes she stole from the clothesline of the Stark’s next door neighbour, because Sansa wasn’t there when she arrived, and Margaery determines that this must be a point in time before Sansa knew who she was.

She hasn’t had a chance to properly explore this town in years, and if Margaery didn’t have such an important event to get back to, she might have enjoyed a day taking in the sights. As it is, she’s on a schedule, and exploring Sansa’s childhood town in an oversized, polka-dot dress isn’t really on it. It’d be easier if she had Sansa with her, but that’s not that case, and Margaery can feel herself growing more and more tense by the second.

Margaery tries to focus on other things, particularly, things that must been happening back in her time right now. There was so much to do, but so little time to do it, and Margaery doesn’t need this extra time wasted. Surely Loras or Dany is looking for her right now, and she hopes they know her well enough to know that she’d never do a runner. Not to Sansa. Never to Sansa.

Perhaps it’s because she’s so lost in her thoughts that Margaery believes, for a split second, that she’s seen a ghost walking down the street. Because it’s not a ghost, not really. It’s a dead woman, but it’s many years before her death, and the same goes for the little boy clutching her arm.

Margaery watches Catelyn Stark for several moments as she tries to keep both Robb and the baby in the stroller, who Margaery suspects is Sansa, quiet. She wishes she could call out to Catelyn and tell her about her children when they are older, tell her all the wonderful stories about them. She’d even tell her about Robb, tell her about how wonderful he was, what a good man he was. She wouldn’t tell him how his story ended, of course, but Margaery thinks that Catelyn would love to hear the rest.

She can’t hear it, though, and Margaery can’t do anything else except watch Catelyn, Robb and Sansa, make their way down the street. They’re coming towards her, and Margaery knows that she should get out of the way and move on, but she can’t. It’s been five years since she’s seen both Catelyn and Robb, and Margaery wants to savour this moment, even if it’s just for Sansa’s sake.

When Catelyn walks past her, she pays her no mind, too busy telling Robb that he can have an ice cream as long as he behaves in the grocery store. Margaery wants to reach out and grab her sleeve, tell her about how Sansa is getting married, Arya is successful in her career, Bran is attending his dream college, and Rickon’s biting phase doesn’t last forever. Of course, Arya, Bran, and Rickon aren’t born yet, but Margaery yearns to tell her all the same. It’d be easier than telling her that Robb dies at the age of twenty two.

But she doesn’t, of course. And so Catelyn walks on by, holding Robb’s hand and pushing Sansa in a stroller, and Margaery is pulled back to where she wants to so desperately be.

**Margaery is 27, Sansa is 25**

She comes back just in time for Dany to zip her up into her dress and fix her hair in the places where it’s fallen apart. She doesn’t ask any questions throughout this entire process, although Margaery knows the silver-haired girl is going to be full of them in a week or two.

“How’s Sansa?” Margaery asks, as Dany fixes a few stray hairs with a bobby pin. Dany looks gorgeous, of course, wearing a sleek silver dress accompanied by a black belt.

“Wonderful,” Dany replies, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Pretty fuckable, if you don’t mind me saying. You are too, of course.” Margaery glances down at her dress, a floor length, strapless number, more grey than white. Flowers dot the skirt and train, after her grandmother insisted that Margaery’s dress must represent the Tyrells somehow. She’s glad for Olenna’s persistence, though, because Margaery can’t help but agree with Dany’s statement.

“Dany,” Margaery warns, but she laughs as her best friend takes her hand and leads her out the room to where everyone is waiting.

It’s not until she’s standing, waiting for Sansa’s arrival that she has time to reflect on what just happened. Seeing Catelyn and Robb again wasn’t something Margaery had ever counted on happening, but she’s glad it did. It hurt, of course, because she had loved Catelyn and Robb as if they were her own family. And although Margaery wishes they were here today, and she knows Sansa does too, she knows that they’d be happy to see Sansa end up like this. Ned would, too.

She hears the music before she sees Sansa, and Margaery can feel the smile forming on her face as she turns to glance down the aisle. Sansa is walking up it, arm in arm with Jon, because with so many people gone it fell on him to give her away. Sansa didn’t seem to mind, in the end, and Margaery knows that Jon is a better option than Theon any day.

In another life, Ned would be the one giving Sansa away, and Jon would be sitting in the crowd next to Robb as they watched their sister get married. Catelyn would be there too, smiling and crying, and afterwards Sansa would have danced with them all, and Ned would’ve made a toast to his beautiful daughter on her wedding day.

As it is, it is Jon who gives Margaery a small smile as Sansa kisses his cheek before turning to face her. She looks beautiful, more beautiful than she’s ever been, and Margaery is momentarily speechless. Only Sansa has ever had that effect on her, especially in a floor length wedding gown, it seems. Sansa’s dress is pure white, with a full skirt and lace sleeves, and her hair is twisted into a complicated bun Margaery assumes Dany had something to do with.

They both cry during the vows, with Margaery tearing up the moment Sansa mentions the loved ones she’s lost. She’ll tell her tonight, Margaery decides, she’ll tell her about Catelyn and Robb. It’ll be her present to Sansa on their wedding day, and she knows that she’ll appreciate it. Sansa’s determined to never forget any of the people she’s lost, and a part of Margaery hopes she’ll see them again.

Grasping each other’s hands tightly as the priest pronounces them wife and wife, Margaery knows that Ned, Catelyn and Robb would all have loved to be here. She’s never been a particular superstitious person, regardless of her condition, but Margaery likes to think, if only for Sansa’s sake, that her trip into the past had some meaning this time.

Leaning forward to kiss Sansa for the first time as her wife, she knows that no matter where she goes, Sansa will always be waiting for her. She’s the only person who’s ever known Margaery’s secret, and, as their lips press together, Margaery knows that nobody else would understand. Not the way Sansa does .

**Margaery is 16, Sansa is 14**

Stepping into Aegon Targaryen Prep for the first time, Margaery knows that she’s going to be happy here. Not that she wasn’t happy at her former school, but something about a fresh start makes her feel better, even if it means more people she’s going to have to hide her secret from. It gives her a chance to make more people fall in love with her, if nothing else, and Margaery has always been absolutely wonderful at doing that.

Fixing a smile on her face, Margaery makes her way down the corridors, determined to make a good first impression like her grandmother always told her. All Margaery has to do is hope that she won’t disappear out of nowhere, and wind up naked in the middle of the street in another time, for Olenna had never told her how she was supposed to deal with that.

Margaery doesn’t usually take notice of those watching her, because she’s sure if they’re really determined they’ll meet eventually anyway. But, for maybe the first time in her sixteen years, she pauses when she sees a tall, auburn haired girl watching her. Many people are, but there’s something different about this girl, something that Margaery is drawn too. She feels as if they’ve met before, although Margaery knows this isn’t possible. She’d remember someone like her.

There’s no way they could have met before, but Margaery decides that they should meet now and makes her way over with a smile. The girl in question looks as if she’s a few years younger than Margaery, but she’s pretty, with blue eyes and stunning hair that’s held back in a tight braid. When Margaery arrives, the girl lets out a deep breath, as if she was holding on to it for a while.

“Hi,” Margaery beams at her, holding out her hand “I’m Margaery Tyrell.”

The girl breaks out into a smile, taking Margaery’s hand and giving it a gentle shake. Thousands of people have smiled at Margaery like that her whole life, but this pretty, young, auburn haired girl seems to be something else entirely.

“I’m Sansa Stark,” she replies, as if she’s been waiting to say those words for a very long time.

“Well, Sansa,” Margaery tilts her head to one side, studying the girl and deciding that yes, they’re going to be very good friends “It’s lovely to meet you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, it's been a little while since I read this book, so excuse if I got any of the actual concept around the time travelling wrong. Also, I know the book alternates POVs, but I only remembered when most of this was done, so, it's all Margaery.  
> Title from the song 'Underwater' by Tegan & Sara.  
> It's nice to be back.  
> For Lucy, who I know will be waiting for me no matter where I go.  
> xx ladystark


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